There once was a guy with a pile,
Of t-shirts, just white ones, no style,
“We’ll tie-dye,” Dave said,
“Yellow, green, blue, and red,”
And the photos will make our friends smile.”
Dave’s gift of a tie-dye kit was the highlight of my 2013 Christmas! But there’s a back story to it: He had ordered Eric Maisel’s book, A Writer’s Paris, for me, and picked up the tie-dye because the book didn’t come in time. Now I am so lucky, because I have both the book, which he gave me after Christmas, and the beautiful shirts that we made in Dad’s backyard.
The whole gang in their tie-dyed shirtsDave, Meps, and Barry making tie-dyeMargaret, Hank, Barry, and Dave show off their purple gloves and Hank’s tie-dyed socks
It seems that I am not the only one with something important to say about suffering. For another masterful look at the subject, read “What Suffering Does,” by David Brooks in the NYTimes (April 7, 2014). ~1meps
When I look back at 2013, I suffered a lot. I didn’t write much, because I was so busy suffering. And when I wasn’t suffering, I was running around, super-busy, trying to keep ahead of the suffering that nipped at my heels.
I do have a lot of beautiful photos from 2013. In them, I see exuberant, joyful smiles and gorgeous scenery. Those were taken during the running-around, super-busy times. The suffering is just outside the picture frame.
Hank during radiation
I spent the first half of the year in landlocked Ohio, far away from Barry and the boat. I was caring for my disabled brother, Hank, who had a rare type of cancer that led to multiple surgeries and the loss of half his nose.
While he was undergoing radiation in the summer, I noticed something funny on my nose, too. In a freakish solidarity with my brother, I landed in surgery in September, losing a portion of my beautiful, freckled nose to an invasive basal cell.
Losing half a nose is nothing, though, compared to losing a person. In the middle of October, I lost my partner in creative and artistic endeavors, Philip. My phone became heartbreakingly silent, as the source of my daily encouragement and inspiration vanished.
I suffered horribly.
That was my mistake. From the very beginning, I should have learned what Hank had to teach me about suffering. Actually, what he had to teach me — and all of us — about not suffering.
To Hank, the cancer brought wonderful amounts of love and attention — visitors, phone calls, presents, flowers. Each trip to the hospital was a new adventure, a chance to make new friends. Every medical person who interacted with him came away with a gigantic smile and sense of wonder.
Just as he had when we went on vacation in 2009 (see Smiling so much, you need a new toothbrush), he kept me running. I was constantly busy, scheduling appointments, tracking medications, driving, cooking, being his nurse. But as long as I was with him, I wasn’t suffering. How could I, in the presence of that glorious smile and cheerful attitude? How could I suffer, if he didn’t?
Barry tried to cheer me up with Hello Kitty bandaids
I forgot that lesson totally when I had my own surgery. I was miserable at the thought of being disfigured, in agony because I refused to take the pain medication prescribed. I cried and whined. I was the worst patient ever.
A month later, when Philip died, I immersed myself in suffering yet again, for months. I’ve cried so much, you’d think the boat would be floating.
Lately, however, I’ve been thinking about this business of suffering. Hank had a major trauma in his life, yet he suffered little. I have seen people suffer more over a broken vacuum cleaner or lost keys.
Based on Hank’s example, I believe suffering is optional. We can choose to separate the events that cause suffering from the suffering itself. I’m going to try that in the coming year.
Suffering takes a lot of time. When I set it aside, I’ll be writing a lot more, taking beautiful photos, making art and music.
I should have done that in 2013.
On vacation with Hank, Barry, and Philip at the Golden Gate Bridge
There once was an angel named Joyce,
With a sweet smile and laughter-filled voice,
And at Christmas each year,
She shared our family’s cheer,
We were honored so much by that choice.
What a beautiful nickname she had,
Only used by the friends of my Dad,
‘Cause the name he’d employ,
For his dear friend was JOY,
And it fit her; for joy’s what she had.
Joy(ce) Van Vlack passed away on October 27, 2013, surrounded by her daughters and their families. She was one of the kindest, most positive people I have ever known, and I will miss her incredible hugs and encouragement of my writing.
Joy in front of the tree, 2010Joy and Dad opening Christmas presents, 2012
Mr. Barry was getting suspicious,
Was my broken bone merely fictitious?
Just a lazy girl’s ploy,
To abuse that poor boy,
And evade five whole weeks washing dishes.
My broken pinkie has finally been set free of immobilization, so I was able to wash the dishes yesterday. Barry really did wash all dishes for the past five weeks — my hero!
The place where we’re hauled out right now, St. Mary’s Boat Services, has a unique way of turning a little boatyard into a big one — they put many of the boats on cradles, so they can be moved easily and packed more densely. They use a forklift and a specialized hydraulic trailer to move the cradles around.
There’s a fellow here named Jeff who happens to be the most amazing forklift operator I’ve ever seen. He can do ballet-like things with the forklift that other boatyards need cranes and other complicated equipment to do. Yesterday, I heard him telling someone that in addition to training and certifying forklift operators for all of southern Michigan, he used to be able to pick up a quarter from the ground and hand it to you — using a forklift. “Not this one, though. The controls are too slow.”
Yesterday, Jeff and his boss, Rocky, needed to move four boats in order to make room for one who was ready to splash today. The first two moves were easy, just towing a couple of folks on cradles to new spots. Flutterby was the third boat in, on jackstands, and right after they picked her up with the Travelift, a van pulled in, delivering two shiny new cradles. There was quite a bit of excitement, because this was the first time Rocky and Jeff hadn’t welded up their own cradles.
As you can see, the first new one works perfectly. Now Flutterby can be scooted around in the forklift ballet, too. At dusk last night, they moved us to our new place, right across from a huge live-oak tree that is full of the cutest little birds on the planet: Bluebirds! It looks like somebody painted their topsides with the same paint Barry used on our bottom.
Flutterby in the slings with her new blue bottom paintTwo cradles arrived just at the moment when we needed oneFlutterby on the new cradle with the forklift in the foreground. Now she’s easy to move and fits into a smaller space.These charming little birds are the opposite of Flutterby, with blue topsides and rufous bottoms
Imagine that for the last couple of years, someone followed you around with a camera, capturing as many of your happy times as possible. What a gift to your family and friends, and what a gift to the photographer, to have captured so much of your joyful spirit on film.
Since 2011, I took that role with my beloved friend and artistic partner, Philip Wilson. I photographed all our adventures together, from one end of the USA to the other, especially Burning Man and Mexico. I documented every step of our joint art installation, Choose Art.
And then, just like that, he was suddenly gone, passing away too young and too soon last weekend. Although they make me cry now, I hope these images of his infectious smile will bring some joy and happiness to the world. That’s what he would want.
Hardship may dishearten at first,
But every hardship passes away.
All despair is followed by hope;
And darkness is followed by sunshine.
~ Rumi
Receiving his Master’s in Mad Science at Burning Man in 2011
At Mount Lassen, 2011
Working on Flutterby
Cruising on Flutterby in the ICW
With the Happy Spot painting he commissioned from Tess Murdock. It is the only painting on Flutterby.
On the beach in Playa Azul, Mexico
Tulum, Mexico
He loved to wear Tomas’ hat everywhere he went
Mexico
Climbing on Mayan ruins
Mexico
Mexico
Mexico
Enjoying the first of many post-retirement naps
Excited as a little kid at his retirement party, where he received a remote-control helicopter
His License to Chill from his retirement-“graduation” party
Visiting the coast near Santa Cruz
Soldering Choose Art in the backyard
Working on Choose Art at Burning Man, 2012
Reno Balloon Festival
I teased him about how compulsive he was about his phone
Grasshopper Cottage, in the Ocala National Forest in Florida
Mirror Lake, on the campus of the Ohio State University
Exploring Ohio
Clowning around
More clowning around
At Hocking Hills, in Ohio
Hiking in Ohio
We dyed Easter eggs in Ohio… over a month after Easter
Enjoying spring flowers
Philip loved purple, and loved the way these flowers matched his shirt
He always stopped to smell the flowers
He even enjoyed dandelions
Figuring out where to put the flower he just picked
Adventures in West Virginia
Camping in Ohio, where he was entranced by fireflies
In addition to red clown noses, he created two bicolored pink-and-blue ones, probably the only ones in existence
Burning Man 2013. He loved the Choose Art sign that Barry and I made and used it to decorate his home.
Reading Latitude 38 and dreaming about sailboats
Walking across the Golden Gate Bridge
He was fascinated by the construction of the Golden Gate bridge
San Francisco from the Golden Gate bridge
Curious about how this art was constructed, he ignored the “do not touch” signs
Trying to figure out an old piece of machinery in Colorado
Playing with an oven mitt he found in Bob’s kitchen
Enjoying fall colors in Colorado
Red Rock Amphiteater, outside Denver
A beautiful B&B in Colorado
Roxborough State Park, Colorado
Fancy breakfast at the B&B. He loved the yogurt parfait.
Dinosaur tracks
“You pretend to kiss the dinosaur, and I’ll take your picture.”
A surprise October snowfall in Boulder, and Philip’s brother Bob’s house
Philip’s personal photographer, Margaret, with the Commander of Chacchoben. Photo by Philip Wilson.
Even though I am thousands of miles away from my boat this summer, she is always on my mind. This week, I’ve been all smiles, because Issue 63 of the Junk Rig Association Magazine just came out, with another article (by yours truly) about Flutterby.
See the second panel in the JRA logo? Guess who unwittingly inspired them to do that!
For over 15 years, Barry and I have been members of the Junk Rig Association, an international group of people who are interested in junk rigs. They’ve been following our progress with Flutterby‘s unique rig, and when I wrote about our first test sail, the editor of the newsletter asked to reprint my article.
“Urk!” I choked to Barry. I was a little embarrassed. I’d written that piece in a very exuberant but tongue-in-cheek style, and putting it into an international publication required some major rewriting. I carefully rewrote it, splitting the article into two parts, and submitted it with photos:
I am so proud to share these with you! Not because of my writing, but because I was able to share Barry’s accomplishment with the world. He has designed and built his own rig, the only one like it in the world, and it works!
Many members of the JRA are expert sailors who know that the Bermudan rig is not the only option. We’re not nuts or crackpots, just evangelists for something that’s worked for thousands of years. Of course, writing for the JRA Magazine is like preaching to the choir.
Even if you never plan to own a junk-rigged boat, the JRA is a wonderful, encouraging organization that produces a beautiful, inspiring magazine. Check out the JRA website: http://junkrigassociation.org/.
At the end of next week, I’ll be living aboard Flutterby, currently in Georgia, for the first time in seven months. Ohio, Washington, and California were great, but I’m looking forward to unpacking my suitcase again.
“Now, I really don’t want to complain,”
Said the birthday girl known as Loraine,
“But that powerful twist
Of the cap in your fist,
Was a gift that upstaged the champagne!”
~
Although she asked for no gifts on her 100th birthday, I couldn’t resist giving Barry’s Grandma some champagne with custom labels celebrating the big day. After we admired them, I put them in her refrigerator. The next day, before we left for the airport, I asked if she’d like Barry to open one of them for her to enjoy later. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!” she said, delighted. It’s not that she can’t buy her own champagne, she just doesn’t have the hand strength to open it once she gets it home.
Two years ago, when she was only 98, I wrote about Loraine in a piece entitled, The Life of the Party. She is the inspiration for the infamous toast started by the late Bill Brown, “Here’s to Loraine,” which we have used all over the world whenever we drink something festive.
The Champagne de Loraine label: Vintage 1913
Meps and Grandma, with the Champagne de Loraine bottle
Three generations celebrating the big day
Grandma’s party. The critical grandson, who opened the champagne bottle, is Barry, second from the left!
I should search for myself on the ‘net,
For this week I could never forget,
Cameras on either side,
Snapping pix of our ride,
As we cruised down the Ditch, all sails set.
This is another limerick I wrote last month, when we sailed the ICW from Vero Beach to St. Mary’s, Georgia. Eventually, I’ll get used to all the cameras pointed our way — this is what we get for making such an unusual and beautiful rig!
“OK, what’s that I see?” I asked Barry,
When dear Flutterby sailed to St. Mary.
“Just a sub and some tugs,
And a lot of lovebugs,
And a gawker or ten on the ferry.”
It was a light wind day in May, and we’d been swatting at annoying but non-biting lovebugs all morning. We took a lot of photos of a giant submarine going out to sea, escorted by tugs and other ships. But when the ferry to Cumberland Island passed by, all the cameras were pointed at Flutterby, instead. She’s a lot more colorful.
